


Dirk Drables

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sigh and look down at the kid. His eyes are small, pupils red, and he’s hungrily gnawing on his tiny little fist. And then it hits you.</p><p>What the hell do babies eat?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirk Drables

**Author's Note:**

> Dirk has to adjust to taking care of someone other than himself.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are a father.

Sort of.

Not quite.

The child in your arms belongs to you, and yet he doesn’t. But in some weird, reach around, fucked up sort of way, he’s yours. You don’t need any rocket scientists or ectobiologists to tell you that much.

You’ve never held a baby before but by the way this little guy is wriggling and whining, you’re pretty sure that you’re doing it wrong. So you hold him like you’ve seen the parents on TV hold their kids; you just slip one arm underneath his back and curve your other one around him to hold him steady. He seems to cool down then and you can breathe easy for a second. Something about babies crying just doesn’t sit well with you.

You sigh and look down at the kid. His eyes are small, pupils red, and he’s hungrily gnawing on his tiny little fist. And then it hits you.

What the hell do babies eat?

—-

You are Dirk Strider and you have never had any real parents.

It’s not as if you were in dire need of any but you’ll never say that it wouldn’t have been nice to have some. Yeah, people say that every kid needs parents but you did alright without them, especially since you had your Bro. He didn’t know a lot about raising kids but he did what he could, and he taught you everything that he knew, which was more than you could ever ask for. But after your Bro was gone, you had to take care of yourself. You’d learned enough from him to know how to stay alive on your own.

Now, taking care of yourself was easy…but taking care of someone else is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

And you have no idea what you’re doing.

This little guy is tiny, the smallest baby you’ve ever seen. It’s not that you’re well versed in the size of small children or something, but he is pretty damn tiny. Every time you pick him up, you’re scared that you’ll break him or something. He just seems so small and you aren’t the gentlest of guys. So you’ve been as careful as you possibly can be, treating him like a living, breathing eggshell.

You finally find out that babies only drink milk. Not regular milk. They drink this weird, powdered shit that you have to mix with water, then you have to warm it up because they can’t drink it cold, but you can’t microwave it— you learned this from Roxy, surprisingly— and you can’t let him drink too much or he’ll get sick, but you have to feed him three times a day which just doesn’t make any sense to you at all.

There are a lot of things about taking care of a kid that drive you crazy, but you’re not going to complain. There’s nothing to complain about, really. You’ve only had him for a short time, but you care about this little guy; he’s your bro.

His name is Dave Strider and you’ll take care of him.

—-

You are Dirk Strider and you gave the little guy some shades.

That may or may not have been a good idea.

“Whoa, whoa chill little dude,” you say as you dip your hand into his crib and grab the sunglasses he’s currently making a meal out of. “Bro, you’re gonna hurt yourself; don’t do that.” you realize that you are talking to a baby but whatever.

As soon as you take away his new found chew toy, he starts wailing.  And this kid has some strong fucking lungs. Your neighbors will hear him— hell, the whole neighborhood will be able to hear this kid.

“Yo, kid—pipe down.”

The kid does not pipe down.

You pluck him out of his crib and grab his blanket, wrapping him in it. Roxy told you something about babies liking to be wrapped in blankets because it reminds them of being in a womb. Well, this kid has never been in a fucking womb so wrapping him in a blanket does jack shit. So you throw the stupid blanket back into the crib and try bouncing and shooshing this mighty lunged Strider.

That seems to only make it worse. There aren’t any bottles warmed, either. You were smart enough, however, to leave a few in the fridge so that all you’d have to do is warm them up.

You start to prepare this kid’s dinner and he just keeps crying. Jesus, does he ever get tired?

“Lil bro, you have got to calm down.” You sigh as you hold him. He’s reaching out toward you and you allow him to grip your pointer finger. No sooner than he grabs it, it’s in his mouth.

Silence.

You are Dirk Strider and you have just become Dave’s chew toy.

—-

You are Dirk Strider and Dave will not sleep through the night.

For some reason, he wakes up at 3am every night, wailing and squirming. You’re usually able to get him back to sleep by changing him—worst thing ever— or feeding him, but tonight is just a bad night, and none of that is working.

You pick Dave up and carry him into the living room. He’s only quiet when you stand, you’ve noticed. Once you sit down with him, he’s at it again, squirming uncomfortably and whining. Babies sure are particular.

You pace back and forth in the small living room of your apartment. You’re yawning every five seconds, forcing yourself to stay awake. And Dave looks so happy, for once, just staring up at you with his little red eyes— you still don’t let him wear his shades because he keeps trying to eat them— while he sucks away at the bottle in his mouth.

His tiny hand is curved across your wrist and you can’t help but smile at him. How could you be flustered or frustrated with him? Who cares if he wakes you up at 3am? He’s your little bro and you’re gonna take care of him no matter what.

“Listen lil bro,” you yawn. “You really need to get to sleep. Do you know what time it is, man? Time for you to doze off.” He just blinks at you, steadily consuming his…breakfast? Whatever. “You don’t have a clue about what I’m saying, do you?” You sigh. “It’s 3am and I’m having a one-sided conversation with a baby.”

Dave giggles and milk spills from the corners of his mouth. You roll your eyes; looks like he’s lost interest in his bottle. You prop him up onto your shoulder and pat his back gently as you keep pacing.

After a while you can almost feel him falling asleep, slumping against your shoulder, all tension draining from his small body. And after you are sure that he’s dozed off, you go to the couch and take a seat.

Here he is, in your arms, peaceful and breathing deeply. He’s a lot easier to manage when he’s asleep.

Careful not to stir him, you lay across the couch with your Bro set on top of your chest. You take off your shades and set them on top of your hat, sighing as you wrap your arms around the little bundle of Dave. You can hear his steady breathing and it calms you. You close your eyes.

You are Dirk Strider and you are exhausted.


End file.
